


Time Won't Fly

by thehoundisdead



Series: song fics [2]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Breaking Up & Making Up, Fluff, M/M, i could probably have tried harder on this, joe is so so soft with luz in private and none of you can take that from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 07:24:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17341109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehoundisdead/pseuds/thehoundisdead
Summary: “Joseph Toye,” George says, still whispering, “I am so in love with you.”There’s a second of silence, Joe staring out at the road ahead of him trying to fight a smile before he turns to George and whispers back, “I love you too.”::Tonight when George gets home, his apartment is quiet and dark. Things are so different now.based on the song all too well by taylor swift





	Time Won't Fly

_ A day  _

It’s a surprise when Joe tells George he’s taking him home to meet his family. He’s just walked in the door, tired after work but with a smile that makes the skin next to his eyes wrinkle. Joe is puttering around the apartment somewhere, George can hear his slightly uneven steps as he toes his shoes off and drops his bag to the floor. He walks down the hallway with soft steps and smiles again when Joe walks out from around the corner. 

“Take a shower,” Joe says in greeting, eyes looking George up and down. 

“Well hello to you too, dearest,” George leers, a smirk on his face as he reaches with one hand to grab Joe by the hip and drag him closer. Joe comes easy enough, a testament to his love; Joe is not a man to be moved if he doesn’t want to. 

Joe leans in, more resting his lips against George’s than actually kissing him, pulling back far enough to say, “Go take a shower.”

“Do I smell that bad?” he asks through a laugh, “I know I was with Bill all day but-”

“We’re going to my sister’s house,” Joe doesn’t look at him when he says this, just thumbs at the hand that is still perched on his hip. George is, miraculously, silenced. 

“Your sister’s?” he’s amazed really; Joe talks about his family but he’s never once extended an offer to bring George with him to their family get togethers; if it were anyone else George might be offended. But he knows Toye is all walls and they’re slow to come down and this,  _ this _ , is a massive wall. 

“Dinner,” is all Joe says, finally looking up to take in George’s face. He searches for a moment and must find something he likes because he nods to himself and says, “We’re going over for dinner.” 

“I’ll be ready in ten,” George replies, already taking a mental catalogue of all of his clothes. He jerks back to head towards the bathroom, stopping himself long enough to kiss Joe again hard but fast, eyes sparkling as he whispers, “Joseph Toye, I love you.”

Joe’s lip twitches in the corner, as he shoves George away, “You have ten minutes or I’m leaving without you.” 

 

When they get there the house is warm, a sharp contrast to the snow outside that leaves George clinging both to Joe and his own scarf. George is anxious, hand moving to grab Joe’s hand, to straighten his shirt and going back to Joe’s hand. This time when he tries to pull away Joe holds on tight, lacing their fingers together, his thumb rubbing circles into the back of George’s hand. He breathes deep, tries to keep calm. He’s good at meeting people, getting them to like him so he doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. Except he knows exactly why because they aren’t just  _ people _ they are Joe’s people. 

So he walks in with a smile on his face and lets Joe take his coat off for him to hang on the rack next to the door. He turns around to face Joe and is about to whisper to him but stops when Joe starts to carefully unwind the scarf from around his neck, fingers stopping to trace his jaw, a thumb brushing his bottom lip. 

“They already love you,” he whispers as he pulls the scarf free to hang next to their coats. Neither notice when it falls to the ground, too focused on each other. 

“What if they don’t?” George asks, in a moment of uncommon insecurity, eyes rapidly looking over Joe’s face. 

“You make me happy,” Joe says in a moment of uncharacteristic sincerity, “That’s all they need.”

“Joe-”

“When were you going to tell me you got here?” a woman asks, standing at the end of the little hallway, one hand on her hip, “Or were you just going to creep around my house?” 

“Can we have a moment to put our coats away?” Joe asks, faux annoyance heavy in his voice. 

“They’re away, now come to the table,” she says, letting her eyes settle on George, “Is this him?”

“Colleen, this is George,” he replies, only half answering her question, settling his hand on the small of George’s back, “George, this is my sister Colleen.” 

“Hi,” George says, reaching out to shake her hand. 

“Oh honey,” she says, using his hand to pull him close enough to throw her arms around him. After a moment of shock his hands go to her back, “In this family, we hug.”

“ _ Joe _ comes from a family of huggers?” he asks before he can really think about it, pulling back to look between the two of them. Joe’s cheeks are turning a blotchy red as he resolutely doesn’t look at either of them while Colleen just laughs. 

“He’s the black sheep,” her smile is mischievous, long dark hair moving against her arms as she glances at Joe, “When we were kids-”

“Alright, alright!” Joe breaks in, hand coming up to rest in George’s shoulder, “I thought we were here for dinner.”

“Maybe  _ you’re  _ here for dinner,  _ I’m _ here to show George your baby pictures,” she says as she leads them into the dining room where a small table is set with three plates, “If he wants to see them.”

“Boy, would I,” George says, laughing at the betrayed look on Joe’s face, “I’ll look at as many as you’ve got” 

“I have an album or ten laying around here somewhere,” she says, a hand settling on the chair she intends to sit in, across from the other two, “Now sit while I go get the food.”

“I can help you-”

“No, you will sit next to George and wait for me to bring the food out,” she interrupts, staring Joe down until he reluctantly sits down next to George. She nods to herself and disappears from the room, allowing them a moment together. 

“You’re doing good,” Joe whispers, taking George’s hand under the table. 

“I still can’t believe you come from a family of  _ huggers _ ,” George exclaims, earning a  _ shut up _ in response. 

 

They eat good food, and drink maybe just a bit too much wine and George gets to look at every baby photo of Joe that Colleen has in her house. Every picture makes his heart swell with love; there’s Joe six years old lining up to play tee ball with a bat that’s too big for his hands. He smiles a toothy smile at the camera letting the bat drag in the dirt. Another shows Joe in high school, glasses that are slightly too big for his face, angrily looking at the camera as he sits on a small bed, the room a cluttered mess around him. And though current Joe complains loudly about this, his cheeks a bright red, George knows he also kind of loves it. It’s embarrassing that much is for sure, but he brought George here not just to meet his sister but so he could learn him.

When it’s time to go, George thanks Colleen for the meal and hugs her again, feeling warm and comfortable in her house. He lets Joe help him back into his coat and thinks he may have just had the perfect night. 

“Come back soon, okay?” Colleen says to the both of them, watching as they walk down the steps into the driveway. George smiles and nods and lets Joe banter with her as they make their way to the car. 

The night around them is dark as they drive away, allowing George the space to think about the night, he whispers to Joe, afraid to break the silence, “I think she liked me.” 

“I told you,” Joe smiles back at him, one hand pulling off the steering wheel to hold onto Luz. 

“Joseph Toye,” George says, still whispering, “I am so in love with you.”

There’s a second of silence, Joe staring out at the road ahead of him trying to fight a smile before he turns to George and whispers back, “I love you too.”

**::**

Tonight when George gets home, his apartment is quiet and dark. There are no footsteps around the corner and for the sixth time this week, George wonders if he should get a cat. But he doesn’t know how to take care of a cat and doing something like that feels too final, too real. 

So he lets himself fall down onto the couch and turns on the TV. George likes to talk but when there is no one to talk to he still needs the noise. So he throws on a random show and lets it play loud enough to wake the apartment, loud enough to not feel alone. 

He lets himself have a moment just to lay down, a moment of peace before he starts moving again, walking into the bedroom that no longer feels like the home it once was. He changes quickly, grabbing pajama bottoms and a t-shirt out of the dresser that he still only uses half of. Throws his dirty clothes into the hamper in his closet and resolutely doesn’t look up at the half filled closet. 

Things are so different now. 

He goes back to the couch, thinks about ordering a pizza but he’s not hungry enough to finish one on his own and he doesn’t like leftovers. Maybe he’ll go to bed hungry. There might be something in his kitchen he can eat. 

A knock on the door interrupts his thoughts, quiet but insistent. He gets up to answer it and isn’t particularly surprised to find Dick Winters standing at his door. 

“What can I do for you on this fine evening, neighbor?” He asks in the happiest voice he can muster, pulling his shoulders back. Dick looks him over with caring eyes, enough to make him uncomfortable in his current state. Luz is the happy friend, he’s not used to his friends taking care of him like this. He’s not used to needing it.

“Are you hungry?” Dick asks in a raspy voice, “I thought we could eat. And talk.” 

“No offense, Dick, but I think I might have preferred you sent Nix instead,” Luz answers, but steps aside all the same. 

“Lew is a good man,” Dick answers, walking through the doorway and into the apartment, “But a bad influence.” 

“That,” George says, following behind, “is exactly the point.”

Dick sighs, turning to look George over, asking, “How are you doing?”

“Little old me? I’m fine, swell, dare I say dandy,” he replies, a lazy smile on his lips. Dick just stares him down though, waits for his shoulders to drop and his eyes to lose their fake shine, “I’m tired.”

“Have you been sleeping?” Dick asks, looking him over once more before rifling through the take out menus George has littered around his kitchen. He’s trying to look casual, George knows, but he’s keeping him in sight. 

“Yes,” he replies instantly, only taking a moment to really think about the answer when he sees the disappointed wilt to Dick’s lips, “I’ve been sleeping. It’s just, it’s hard.” 

“Hard?”

“He’s not there,” George whispers, “He’s not there and I know I don’t need him, I don’t. I was fine before him and I’m fine now but, I was, I was so used to sleeping a certain way and now- now he’s not there. That’s all there is to it.”

“I’m sorry,” Dick says, as he pulls out a menu and hands it to George. 

“You didn’t do anything,” he says, the menu is for Joe’s favorite pizza place but he decided long ago that Joe doesn’t get to have everything so instead he just says, “Pepperoni.” 

“I don’t have to have done anything to be sorry,” Dick replies, as he grabs the menu back and starts to dial the number. The worst part is that he means it. 

When the pizza is ordered and well on its way, Dick looks over at George and says, “You don’t deserve this.”

Except. Except maybe he does, because Joe is a smart man and he wouldn’t have left without a good reason. He wouldn’t have thrown away two years if George was undeserving. He would’ve stayed. But that is a sentiment that only Nix would appreciate so instead George just says, “I’m hungry.” 

“Good,” Dick says and they wait in silence for a pizza that neither of them want. 

**::**

_ A week _

They took a road trip last fall, just driving through small towns and staying in cheap motels at night together. Joe is easy on the road, soft and pliant in the driver’s seat as he croons Irish songs to George. 

“Joe. Honey, sweetie, baby,” George starts, grinning at the pinched look that appears on Joe’s face from the pet names. He’s been doing this for weeks, an unwarranted game to find the perfect name for Joe. Joe remains less than impressed but he knows he’ll find the right one eventually; until then he enjoys watching Joe squirm, “You are quite possibly the worst singer of all time.”

“I am the best singer in this car,” he says, looking over at George as he smirks, “ _ Now some men like a fishin’, some men like the fowlin’- _ ”

George throws his head back against the car seat laughing as Joe continues to half shout the lyrics off key. Truly, Joe is a bad singer but George doesn’t stop him. No one gets to see Joe like this, carefree and happy, no one but George and there is no way he’ll even think about letting that man stop. 

He continues to laugh though, joining in on the song he now knows thanks to Toye, making a show of looking back at Joe every so often to shout the lyrics just a touch louder. He revels in the way Joe watches him, eyes dancing as he sings along with George. 

It’s a good moment, one that leaves George laughing as he turns to face the road sobering quickly to shout, “Red light!”

“Fuck,” Joe curses as he slams on the breaks, skidding to a stop just over the white line. They’re both silent for a moment, forgetting the song that still plays from the radio. 

“I know I’m beautiful,” George begins, grinning at the frown already settling on Joe’s face, “But you really should pay attention to the road.”

“You know that’s not what that was about,” Joe starts, embarrassed. 

“I’m just saying, you can’t keep your eyes on me all the time,” he teases as Joe continues to bristle, “Come on, let’s stop at a diner, get some food.”

“You paying?” 

“Are you asking me to ask you on a date?” George continues to tease, watching Joe roll his eyes. 

“I would nev-”

“Because I will, Joe Toye,” he states, voice softer than he had intended, “I will take you on as many dates as you like.”

Joe shuts up after that but the smile on his face is worth it. George vows to spend every day for the rest of his life trying to see that smile. 

When they get out of the car Joe is quick to grab George’s hand, pulling him close as they walk through the brisk air. The trees around them are turning red, leaves crunching underneath their feet. Joe’s nose is red from the cold and he has his jacket pulled up close to his ears and George could swear he’s never looked more beautiful. 

Instead he says, “I bet I can eat more french fries than you.”

“You’re on,” Joe says, face suddenly serious as he pulls George into the diner behind him. 

The rest of the trip is consistent with this. Away from their family and friends, away from the watchful eyes of the people who love them, Joe is all soft edges and and warm hands. They spend their nights huddled together in cold rooms and their days laughing. 

They don’t really go anywhere or do anything but they don’t stay and it’s the best vacation George has ever had. 

**::**

The produce aisle has never looked so daunting. 

The thing is, George knows how to grocery shop. He comes from a big family and had to do more that a few weekly grocery trips before he’d even turned fifteen. He has shopped for himself since he moved out, he knows exactly what he needs to cook what he likes so this shouldn’t be a problem. 

Except for the last two years he’s been buying food to cook for two. He can’t run on autopilot anymore because every decision has to be conscious. Exactly how many apples does he want to eat this week? How much yogurt? 

Every item he picks up is now a math problem. How much he would normally get minus how much Joe would eat equals how much he should buy now. He spends more of the trip thinking about Joe than he really should, than what Dick would consider healthy. He needs to step up his game though because he knows if he doesn’t they’re going to send Carwood to his house and he can’t take the sad mom eyes. 

So he tries to remember how much he would’ve bought before he started shopping for Joe. Rather, he wants to remember who he was before Joe but he can’t. It’s impossible to escape something when it’s become so ingrained in him. His reflex is to think of what Joe would want, what he would need for the week. 

So shopping trips become a painful necessity but George will get through them. Here’s the thing; George still loves Joe, that much is a fact. Joe left a month and a half ago, that is a month and a half with no contact whatsoever and his love hasn’t waned in the slightest. Maybe he will always love Joe. But he can make it by just fine without it. He is determined to make it without him. 

If Joe doesn’t want him then so be it; George will shop for the exact amount of apples for one. He will learn how to cook just enough in a meal that he won’t have leftovers and won’t need to be reminded of what he lost. For now, he is stuck doing math in the produce aisle. 

“George?” an all too familiar gruff voice calls from behind him. 

“Joe?” George asks, eyes wide as they scan the area, panicking as they land on the man he loves. He looks good, but Joe always looked good. His hair looks soft and shiny, he does not have bags under his eyes to match George’s. His basket is empty and his nose and cheeks are tinged red from the cold. He looks happy. 

“Shit,” Joe says, like maybe he didn’t even mean to call out to George, maybe he was hoping it wasn’t actually him, “How have you been?”

“I’ve been...” George starts and doesn’t know how to finish, he doesn’t want to lie but Joe looks so good and he can’t be the only one still hurt by this, “I’ve been good.”

“Good, good,” his voice is husky as he mutters to himself, sending an ache through George’s heart, “That’s great, Georgie.” 

“And you?” George says, his throat feels like it's closing, the muscle throbs as he speaks through it, “Have you been good?”

Joe stands there for a moment just watching George, his face betrays nothing and George hopes that means maybe Joe misses him, “I’ve been great actually, I quit my job and found a nice place. I’m leaving everything behind.” 

Joe is not a cruel person, this George knows. He wouldn’t say things to hurt George, especially not now. But all George can think is  _ he’s leaving me behind _ , “That’s awesome, Joe.” 

“Yeah,” Joe says, still watching George in the way he always did, “We should catch up soon.”

“You know my number,” his voice is almost a whisper, his lips barely move and he’s pretty sure his hands are shaking so his grips his basket with both hands and hopes Joe won’t notice. 

“Yeah,” Joe nods in agreement before jerking his head to the side and saying, “Well I gotta...”

“Totally, yeah, get back to your shopping,” he won’t say goodbye again so that will have to do. Joe doesn’t quite smile, but there is a change on his face as he turns to walk away. George stands there for too long, watching him walk away again. He doesn’t turn around. 

When he’s out of sight, George takes a deep breath and as calmly as possible he sets his basket down on the ground, turns and walks out of the store. He doesn’t remember the drive home, doesn’t remember texting Carwood but when he gets home he’s there, leaned against George’s door. 

“Are you okay?” is the first thing he says, shuffling in behind George as he unlocks the apartment. When the door is shut George turns back to him, shoulders hunched and trying to breathe. 

“No,” he whispers and lets Carwood hug him. 

“Oh George,” Carwood says back, hugging him just a little tighter, “You’re going to be okay.”

This George knows. He will be okay because he loves Joe Toye but he will not break him. So he will be okay. He’s just not sure when. 

**::**

_ A night _

It’s two in the morning and George can’t sleep, so he stands in front of the open refrigerator scanning the items like maybe they’ve changed in the last ten minutes. The room is dark and he has soft music playing in an attempt to quiet his mind. He doesn’t hear footsteps behind him but he does feel the hands that are suddenly resting on his hips, as they carefully turn him around. 

“You should’ve woken me,” Joe says in his tired voice, leaning his head down to rest in the crook of George’s neck. It’s easy for George to wind his arms around Joe’s neck, to press closer to him. 

“Why? So we both have to suffer?” George asks, grinning at the way Joe seems to push further into him. 

“Mmm,” Joe mumbles, libs brushing against his neck, “If you’re awake, I wanna be awake with you.”

The best surprise of their relationship, George thinks, is that Joe is a romantic. It’s only ever when they’re alone, in quiet moments like this when he is soft and pliant in George’s arms, “Joe, you are a sap.”

“Sure,” he mumbles, swaying them slightly, his skin glowing in the refrigerator light, “Just don’t tell the guys.” 

“Your secret’s safe with me,” George says, making a show of zipping his lips, even as Joe continues to move them side to side, “Are you trying to dance with me right now?”

It takes a moment for him to answer, quietly pulling back to look George in the eye, “Maybe. If you want to.” 

There’s a look of uncertainty on his face, like maybe George will tell him this is stupid. For the thousandth time that day, George decides he’s never loved Joe more than in this moment, with his hands on his hips and love in his eyes, “I want nothing more.”

“Good,” he says, voice quiet so as not to disturb the peace of the kitchen. He pulls George closer to him and steps with him, dancing him around the kitchen, watching as a smile creeps onto George’s face. 

They continue, letting the room get cold and the fridge get warm until George is happy and tired. Easy enough to pull into bed, to wrap himself around Joe and pull a blanket over their shoulders. He doesn’t say anything that night, just reaches a hand up to tangle in Joe’s hair and pull his face closer, close enough for him to press a gentle kiss against his lips, smile pressed against smile. He falls asleep with a hand pressed against the small of his back and a leg tangled in between his own. George has never known happiness like this. 

**::**

That night, the night  _ it _ happened, George got home thinking everything was normal. The lights were on and he could hear Joe in there somewhere as he closed the door behind him. He didn’t know something was wrong, not until he walked into their room and saw the bags. In neat piles, Joe had all of his things packed up and ready to go.

“Joe?” he calls to the figure sitting hunched on the bed. He feels sick, can taste the bile rising as he walks forward, “Joe, what’s wrong?”

“This isn’t working out George,” the words are out there in George’s favorite voice but he doesn’t understand them, doesn’t know what they mean, not now, not in this context. 

“What?” he asks desperately, taking a step forward, then another until he’s dropping to his knees in front of Joe, begging him to look at him, “Joe, what are you talking about?”

“This, Georgie,” he says, motioning between the two of them, “We shouldn’t be doing this, I, I shouldn’t be doing this.” 

“Joe,” George pleads, grabbing his face so Joe will finally meet his eyes. But he doesn’t like what he sees, those eyes are sad but they are decided, “Joe, what wrong with us?”

“Nothing is wrong with you,” Joe says, he grabs onto George’s hands for just a moment before pushing them away and standing up, “It’s me, I’m not right for this and I can’t-” 

“Are you seriously giving me the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech? Seriously?” he stands up to follow Joe, out into the other room where he is carrying as many bags as he can, “Do you not think I deserve more than that? After two years?” 

“You deserve the world,” Joe says without hesitation, turning to look at George, “You deserve everything.”

“Everything but you,” he trails behind, thinks about all the times Joe moved with him, for him, that his willingness to be pushed and pulled meant he loved him. Now Joe will not be pulled; he will go only where he wants to be, leaving George behind, “So that’s it? Two years and you’re just going to leave? You’re not even going to try?”

“You don’t need me, George,” Joe says, turning to look at him one last time as he unlocks the front door, “You’re fine without me.”

“I’m not fine!” he all but shouts, a last desperate attempt to change Joe’s mind, “I’m not fine at all!” 

“You’re more than you think you are,” Joe replies, shaking his head as he steps out the front door, out of George’s life, “You always were. I don’t fit into that.” 

Joe shuts the door and George doesn’t chase him. He wants to, every muscle in his body is tensing, ready to run after him. But in the end, he decides, if Joe doesn’t want him anymore than so be it. He can’t force him to stay, can’t force him to feel the way they did not so long ago. 

George still doesn’t know when things changed for Joe, not really. He was stupid, he thought everything was going to well, thought their futures were intertwined, that he’d be falling asleep with those hands drawing pictures into his skin for the rest of his life. Now he sits alone in a half empty apartment, wondering what happened, where he could’ve changed, just a little, just enough to have kept Joe a while longer. 

**::**

_ A moment _

George was laying in Joe’s bed, wrapped in his flannel waiting for him to come home. Waking up the next morning in Joe’s bed is the best way to start any day; he is warm in Joe’s blankets while he waits for him to come back with the promise of coffee and breakfast. 

He can hear the keys fumble into the lock, uneven steps walking down the hallway to meet George. His hands are full, and he looks like he’s about to say something but when he looks up all he does is stare. 

“See something you like?” George asks, propping himself up on his elbows to get a better look. He knows he looks disheveled, hair a mess and uncombed from Joe’s fingers. But he gives Joe a lopsided smile and laughs when he hurries to put everything down. 

From there Joe climbs on the bed, crawling over George until they are face to face. He’s got one hand pressed against the bed to hold himself up, the other cradles George’s jaw, pulling him up into a bruising kiss. When he pulls back it’s only far enough to breathe; his lips still brush against Georges when he whispers for the first time, “I love you.” 

George is breathless as he grabs onto Joe’s hips and tugs him down, so they are pressed against each other and kisses him again. And again. Joe’s knee presses into the bed between George’s legs and George brings one up to wrap around Joe’s hip. He keeps kissing him until Joe pulls away, searching his face asking, “George?”

“I love you,” George says back, pulling him down and whispering into Joe’s neck, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

**::**

The walk home alone from work is cold and lonely, only made worse knowing his apartment will be much the same. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his coat and he can see the foggy mist of his breath with every exhale. He watches his feet as he journeys the distance, looking up when he gets to the stairs leading up to his door. 

And there sits Joe Toye in all his glory. 

He’s holding George’s scarf, the one he left at his sisters last year, that he forgot to grab every time he left. But now it’s here sitting in Joe’s hands as he stands to meet George. It’s a moment before George realizes he’s stopped moving, staring wide eye at the man ahead of him. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks because he can’t deal with this, not tonight, maybe not ever. He wants to go inside and forget any of this happened, forget that Joe left him, forget he ever had him. 

“I...” Joe starts, looking down at the scarf as he shuffles his feet, “You forgot this, at my sister’s. I thought you might be cold.” 

“I’ve been just fine without it,” voice curt, not to hurt Joe but so as not to reveal anything about George, “You could’ve kept it.”

“It’s yours,” Joe says, his face looks desperate, like he wants George to understand but for the life of him George has no idea what Joe wants him to say, “If you want it back, it’s here.” 

“It’s just a scarf,” George sighs, fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, lost on his own doorstep. 

“It’s not just a scarf!” Joe yells, deep voice cutting off at the end, quieting, “It’s not just a scarf, Georgie.” 

“Fine,” George snaps, wants to yell that Joe doesn’t get to call him that anymore, that Joe is the one who decided none of this meant anything, “But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”

“I want...” he looks so lost and scared and a big part of George wants to wrap him up in his arms and remind him that everything will be alright, “I want it to matter.” 

“Joe, for God’s sake you’re the one who left in the first place!” George shouts, running a hand roughly through his hair, “You’re the one who left me. So what is it that you want? You want it to matter to me? It does, but what I want doesn’t change anything, you made that perfectly clear.” 

“I made a mistake!” Joe shouts right back, walking closer to George so they are face to face, “I shouldn't have left, do you think I don’t know that?”

“Well it’s a little late for that!” his voice is cracks this time so he takes a second to calm down, voice considerably quieter when he asks, “Joe, why are you here?” 

“It’s, I’m, George,” he breathes George’s name like a prayer, grabbing his hand like he’s afraid he might run, “I’m yours. And if you want me back, I’m here.” 

“You can’t just waltz back into my life, Joe,” he shakes his head, pulls his hand away and takes a step back, “You left. You didn’t even tell me why, or what I did wrong, you can’t just come back and expect everything to be fine.”

“I know that, I know,” he says, “I didn’t want to leave, I just...”

“You what?”

“I’m not good enough for you,” he finally whispers, shaking his head when George goes to interrupt, “No it’s true! You’re smart and outgoing, you make friends with everyone you meet George! Everyone loves you and I, I don’t like talking to people, I hold you back at parties and dinners and then half the time I don’t even know what you’re talking about. I pull you away from everyone else and I can’t even keep up with our own conversations.” 

“That’s, Joe, none of that is true,” George starts, conceding when Joe raises one eyebrow, “Okay, maybe you’re a little antisocial, but I like that! I like that when we’re with strangers you only want to talk to me, I like that when I get too crazy you pull me aside. You calm me down, Joe, you’re the only one who can do that.

“I mean, God, could you  _ imagine _ if I was with someone else like me?” George asks, and from the unhappy look on Joe’s face he thinks it’s safe to say he’s definitely pictured it before, “I would be miserable! I like to talk, you know I do, but sometimes I need quiet too. I need someone who wants to be quiet with me.”

“I...” he mumbles, staring at his feet, “I guess I never thought about it like that.” 

“And Joe you’re not dumb!” George yells, throwing his hands into the air, “You are one of the smartest, most insightful men I know and if you think I don’t value every one of our conversations, you’re dead wrong. 

“I mean do you think I want to be with someone like Webster?  _ Webster _ ?” George asks incredulously, looking at Joe with as much intensity as he can muster. He takes a step forward, close enough that he can cup Joe’s face, “I don’t want Webster. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

“George,” Joe says like he can’t think of any other words and surges forward, knocking noses with George but holding on, holding him close like he’s wanted to for the last two months, “I’m sorry.”

“You have to promise you won’t ever do anything like that again,” George says, panting when they pull apart. Joe is looking at him so earnestly, eyes wide and still scared and now George really does wrap him up, “If you ever feel like that you have to tell me, Joe. I can handle working through shit with you, but I can’t handle you just leaving.” 

“I promise,”  he says, fingers hooking in to the belt loops of George’s jeans, thumb wiggling under his shirt to brush at the skin above his hip bone. 

“Okay,” and he’s smiling, finally actually smiling with dimples and wrinkles next to his eyes, “We’re taking this slow but for now come inside, Jesus it’s cold.”

**::**

They do take things slow, or at least try to, which turns out to be difficult. Three months later and they eat dinner at George’s apartment (it turns out the “nice place” Joe was living was just Malarkey’s house) most evenings and even though he knows he should send Joe home for the night, more often than not he pulls him back into what was their bed. 

Joe really only goes back to Malarkey’s every now and then for his stuff, which George has been pretending he doesn’t notice Joe leaving all around his apartment. He has a toothbrush and his filled the dresser drawers back up and ignores the fact that George left all of his spaces empty, like he was waiting for him to come home. 

When George wakes up in the morning, it’s to Joe tracing constellations into his back and he never complains when George pushes into him further, wrapping his limbs around Joe and trapping him there until they’re both almost late for work in the morning. 

They don’t have a perfect life, not in the least. They live in a shabby apartment with loud neighbors who drop by unexpectedly to talk, to tell them they’re glad they worked everything out. Sometimes Joe still has moments where he can’t believe George doesn’t want someone better, more intelligent and friendly, and George still has mini heart attacks when he sees Joe folding the laundry because it looks like he packing his clothes away.  

But on mornings like these, with Joe warm and solid underneath him, glowing in the soft light that peaks through their curtains, George doesn’t think he could ever be happier. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
